(Rough Draft 1st rewrite)
In the spring their love grew
exaggerated – tangled hair
arms and legs and joyful bruises.
Sitting in a white room, the woman
looks out a window towards
a turbulent sea telling it the dreams
that she wants – that are not true
the man is standing against a wall
watching the movement of shadows
across the face of a clock.
Skin on skin, their bodies
exuberance, blushing cheeks
as the moon gently tells them
the sun is not far behind
In the morning the man
gently lays the woman’s
hair across his eyes so that
his glances, from this morning
on, will be filled with the history
of knowing and of light –
as the sun and moon pause
every so briefly in a shared sky.